


Draconic Rage

by Schneidropov



Category: Fire Emblem: If | Fire Emblem: Fates
Genre: A nice brotherly chat, Angst, hohohoh, when corrin gets mad, which escalates
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2017-03-18
Updated: 2017-03-18
Packaged: 2018-10-07 09:16:22
Rating: Not Rated
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 2,087
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/10357125
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/Schneidropov/pseuds/Schneidropov
Summary: Corrin finally realises why Takumi has been so afraid of him lately.





	

**Author's Note:**

> I'd been thinking about making this a long time, now. So here it is. Finally.
> 
> I do not own the characters, nor do I own the setting or game in general. Thank you for reading.

“I know I don’t say this often, but I love you, Brother.”

Takumi’s voice rattled in the back of his throat, timid and weak. I raised an eyebrow. Why was he acting so… pusillanimous? Both his hands were clasped behind his back, and the tip of his foot tapped the floor in a disheartening rhythm. My scarlet eyes glowed with heartache. Or, perhaps, tears?

I tilted my head, letting my ashen hair fall to the side in an untamed swoop. “Is something the matter?”

His stare, once fixed on the wood floor, shot up and met mine. His back straightened. “Um,” he mumbled, “no, no, I’m okay.”

My lips curled into a sneer. This had been going on for several weeks now, and I was sick of it. He always avoided me, and if ever there were a time we happened to be in the same room, he ignored me. He’d answer my questions in inadequate phrases; I’d ask him his strategic maneuvers for the next battle and he’d just mutter a simple, ‘I’m not sure’. He’d never help me even if I were on the brink of death, even if there were no one around to help for days, simply letting Felicia or Elise or Sakura take care of it. I was beginning to grow tired of such behavior. I’m not certain I know where these kind of actions originated from, for they’re nothing like the Takumi I knew before the war, but they definitely aren’t acknowledged.

But the worst part, the worst part about all of this, is that it only seems to occur around me. I found multiple times when Takumi would talk to someone perfectly normal, as he used to, then at the first glance of me, he’d cower. What had I done to make him so uneasy? I truly wished to know.

My heart sped up as I queried, “Takumi, are you really okay?”

His amber pupils faded as he ducked his head lower. “Yes.” His answer, however blunt and straightforward, didn’t convince me.

I watched as a sliver of light from the window on the far side of my room lit up half of his face, his warm, pearly hair glimmering while the rest of him looked much more dreary. He wasn’t wearing his battle attire, but rather a white blouse and something called a ‘haori’ I once heard him mention, which was a bright pink. He also had a chrysanthemum in a periwinkle hue tucked behind his ear. He only dressed so fluorescently on good days, I noted awhile back. I have to admit, the first time I saw him sporting such an outfit, with his rich, luxuriant mane down and about, I thought he was beautiful. And even now, I do. I enjoyed having him over for a chat, except… he hadn’t even sat down yet and it was already uncanny.

I remembered for a fleeting moment the sheer allure of his character when he had stridden out of his dressing room that one evening. It was too nebulous a memory to remember the exact setting, but I recall the blinds opening to a pitch black sky, and candles were ridden about, and the sweet smell of lavender filled the air. No, you would be abhorrently mistaken if you’re picturing a intimate exchange. The thought of that perception makes my cheeks flush. No, rather, it was a ceremony of sorts. Ryoma, Hinoka, and Sakura were there as well - we had what may have been comprehended as a party, but to us, it was more of a gathering to recollect and gather ourselves. It was also a chance to tell of the things that happened in Hoshido while I was gone. So, Takumi dressing in his lazy, or as I like to call it, a bit sultry, clothing, was what the rest of us did as well. I remember the kimono that Hinoka was wearing, but I wasn’t too focused on her. My eyes had, no matter how many times I resisted, always found themselves apon Takumi.

This gathering was when I discovered just how warm my younger brother could actually be, and it amazed me. He wasn’t sharp or snarky as I had gained from his behavior when I first met him. He was actually quite sweet and adventurous. He wasn’t tremendously shy but he had his dignity, and that’s what makes him, well, him. Despite his sudden outbursts when he got mad, and just the fact that he was such a hot-head. And, even in spite of the recent mousy over-timorousness that I just can’t seem to understand. He was overall a nice person, and I’d hate to think of what would’ve happened if I didn’t join Hoshido. I probably would’ve never gotten to meet him.

My eyes wandered to the cream wall behind Takumi. I was getting a bit too impatient with his introversy, and I felt a wave of anger wash over me. “Obviously, something has you, Takumi. Why are you so quiet?” I sighed with more than a hint of exasperation in my voice. Out of pure instinct, I stepped toward him, reaching my hand out nonthreateningly, aiming to place it on his shoulder, just to make him feel comfort.

His eyes darted to mine. His pupils seemed to dilate when he looked at me once again, and he threw his shoulder back before I could rest my palm on it. With a few steps back, bewilderment struck his features. Did he just flinch? I wasn’t going to hurt him. “Brother?” I had to ask with a coo.

That Hoshidan prince didn’t let down. He was only a few feet from the door, not backing up anymore but certainly looking as if he’d abscond at any second, the top half of his body slightly turned sideways, his figure unbalanced. His arms were now on either side of his waist, his hands hovering in the air like he were showcasing his marionettes.

What had gotten into this kid? He wasn’t the Takumi I knew before the war. Why was he so afraid?

His voice cut daggers into the unsteady silence. “You’re not my brother,” he whispered in a harsh, menacing tone. I furrowed my brows. Was he serious? His foot tapped the floor behind him, feeling for space to walk backwards in, but he didn’t dare let his eyes leave me.

At this point, I was irritated. He was probably just scaring me, or tricking me, or something. I don’t understand. Why was he acting so otherworldly? I felt my chest ache with the thought that he could’ve gone insane. He wasn’t one to give in so easily to something like that; surely, he was fine. Maybe I just said that to reassure myself. He was now just inches away from the door, his hands clasped onto the wall and feeling around, making sure he knew where he was and that he was stable. He never stopped looking at me.

“Takumi,” I began, stepping forward, then I quickly added after he flinched, “Brother. What are you talking about? Who are you?”

A look of disgust but also nonplus smeared across his face like someone had perceived his features as a blank canvas and applied a good coat of repugnance to it. He gritted his teeth, maybe in anger, or fear. His voice raised questionably when he quipped, “Who am I?” He said so with such a passion, as if I were the one at fault. He peeled his hand from the wall and pointed a finger at himself, emphasizing his words. Then, he flipped his hand around and now I was being pointed at. “Who am I? Corrin, who are you?” He spat when he shouted, reminding me of a dog slobbering all over itself. He was certainly not the picture of beauty when enraged.

It took me a good moment to process what he said. Who am I? What does he mean? He was the one acting as if I had two heads. I felt my eyes burn, but not like I was going to start crying, just like they were melting, my vision blurring slightly. Vexation welled up inside of my stomach. “You’ve gone mental, Takumi!” I growled, every violent step forward earning me a step backward from him until his heels pressed up against the wall and his back flat on the door. It felt wrong to shout at him like that, but I couldn’t help it. When someone you love is being blinded by the shadow of hate, you’d help them, as well, with minor chastising.

I hated seeing Takumi so angry, yet so horrified. I didn’t want to be the reason he was terrified right then. Though it was so obvious that I was the source of this madness. The images of that party flashed in my mind - his sweet aroma, laughing, smiling - and, compared to now, was painful to comprehend. _“If you think anyone is sane, you just don't know enough about them.”_ Is this how he’s always been? Surely, that wouldn’t be true. He’s only acted this spectrally ever since…

“At least I’m not the one who killed Mother!”

His words shot through me like a bullet. I stifled a gasp. Of course. He’s afraid of me because… I struggled to find a rebuttal, an explanation or something, but any sort of English language slipped out of my hands like a soap bar. If I should’ve found a word to sputter, it wouldn’t have mattered any way. He had already barged out as a baby would in a tantrum, leaving me alone in my quarters to think about what I’d just done. Nothing. I’d done nothing. It was all him.

But seeing him so distraught brought an igneous sensation to my fiery heart. Rage plunged deep inside me like a diver. I had done no such thing to make him so upset; yet he’d blame me for everything. I didn’t kill Mother. She wasn’t even my own mother. I didn’t kill her - Garon did. So why must he pile such hatred atop ‘my shoulders? I am not his punching bag, nor am I a murderer. I would not take this kind of scapegoating from him.

When my chest finally submerged back into my torso normally, I felt my legs again. They were stiff as a statue, as if I’d had my lower body doused in a freezer for hours, so I just stood there, feeling absolutely empty. Did I just lose the trust of a friend? Or, rather, a brother? The only thing I heard now was the faint ticking, the pendulum clicking against the inside, of my large, dark oaken grandfather clock which was settled beside my bed. All else was quiet.

I kicked my legs into motion, using them to shuffle to my aforementioned bed and allowing myself to sit down on the light blue covers. I sunk into the mattress. Waves of rage the color of my blanket pressed down on my head and stomach. I wanted to fetch Takumi and prove him wrong. Some part of me was persistent in attaining that. But the other parts knew that that wouldn’t make much ‘a difference. His broken heart was set on this belief that I was a maniac and I killed his mother. Saying that wasn’t true wouldn’t mend it, just agitate it. Conflict sugared my mind like a confection, and my hands gripped the edge of the bed, as if grasping for a reason, or a stabilizer, or a comforting thought, or the hand of a friend. My imagination wasn’t so grand, however.

If only Takumi hadn’t been so bent on this... I’d convinced myself in record time that he was the one who was corrupt.

But then, suddenly, I had a revelation, a shocking turn of events, an epiphany. As I pressed my feet against the cold wooden floor to stand up and step over to my mirror, a long, dreary string of paint colored my heart grey.

There were two horns projecting from my forehead, my eyes were stained a luminescent ruby, scales trickled along my so-called human skin, and sharp, vicious teeth stabbed out from my gums. A horrid sight. Not me, but a monster. A devil. This wasn’t me. This couldn’t have been. All along, I'd predicted he were insane, but now... pain stung my chest like a horde of wasps. Takumi, it wasn’t true. I wasn’t truly a monster inside. Takumi… was it true?

Was I truly a monster inside?

**Author's Note:**

> Wow, this was pleasant to write. I've really been improving lately with my writing; I'm so proud of myself! Hopefully this fic makes sense! Haha :D
> 
> Thanks for reading!! :)


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